A World Parralleled, part 1
by DragonGirl23
Summary: Buffy and friends land in a world where an evil vampire queen rules.


Buffy's eyes fluttered open abruptly, and with a fevered groan, she sat up carefully. Her bright eyes scoured the room for details, and she noticed each and every one, from the beautiful oak bed on which she lay, covered in satin sheets, to the glorious windows of dark glass, making the light from outside fall in harmless circles near a large dining table. It was a room of fantasies, one of dreams, and all around her, Buffy found relics and wonderful things from a time not her own. The first thing she asked herself was where the hell she was. She pondered the question for a moment and then looked down at herself. She was still wearing her tight leather jeans and sweater from the previous night. However, her memories were a jumble of thoughts and flashes of pictures, and all that she seemed to recall didn't amount to much. She remembered the chamber they'd found, yes, all of them, herself, the impertinent and yet altogether humorous Xander Harris, her best friend, and the wicca skilled red-head Willow Rosenberg. The chamber had been broad, a deep cave within the face of a cliff just outside of Sunnydale, California, a place where numerous people had reportedly disappeared recently. They had searched the cave carefully for clues, just the four of them, and found nothing. Nothing until Xander had exclaimed loudly, "Look here, I think I've found--" That was all Buffy remembered. Just shooting lights, stars in her eyes, and now this. A typical Saturday in Sunnydale. Buffy placed her feet down tentatively from the huge bed, and met light carpet, the kind that was cut long and like shaggy fur. She got up and walked across the room. Looking around once more, she noticed a door to the right of her, a bathroom, obviously, just a sort of odd-looking toilet and a sink, and in the corner was a Jacuzzi bathtub, which looked as though it was large enough to accommodate several people at once. She rubbed her eyes fitfully, wondering what in God's name was going on, and decided to try the main entrance door to the room in which she stood. It was a broad door, with delicate carvings cut into it, all drawn into the wood by a careful hand. She attempted to open it, but was met with no doorknob, and on push or pull the door did not budge. A small metal plate was centered where the knob had been, and Buffy lightly rested her hand on it, causing the door to swing open quickly and noiselessly. Weird, she thought. Stepping out of the doorway, the humongous door snapped shut behind her, and she decided to have a look around. Down one aisle was only red carpeting, looking like something out of an old castle picture, dotted with lights and extravagant decor. She looked then to her left and was met with the same picture. There was another door down there, though, which resembled closely the one she had just exited. Cautiously, Buffy took a step to the left, and then, growing more confident, walked quickly down the hallway. She stopped at the next door and discovered a similar metal plate positioned on it. Buffy supposed it would be polite to knock before entering, and so she did so carefully, the door itself producing a resounding knock-on-wood effect. There came a fitful reply, "Who is it?" Buffy recognized the voice almost immediately. "Willow!" she cried through the door. Placing her hand on the metal plate, Buffy proceeded to open the door and was met with a sight not different from her own room. Willow sat in the middle of the broad bed, knees to her chest and arms encircling them. Mascara ran down Willow's two pale cheeks. Her friend got up quickly and ran to her for a hug. "Where are we, Buffy?" she asked frantically. "I don't know just yet, Will," Buffy replied. On closer inspection, she found that the room in which Willow stayed was identical in every respect to Buffy's though the windows were slanted a bit differently, and the room at a different tilt. "Let's get out of here, okay?" the young witch cried, though calming now. "Sure," Buffy said, still sorting out the pieces of the puzzle. She lead Willow to the door and pressed the metal plate once more, sending the door flying as usual. Willow seemed perplexed. "How--" she began. "Don't even ask," Buffy replied, "I don't even know myself." The had returned again to the corridor, and now Buffy noticed that if they kept going to the left, which curved in a circle, they would reach steps leading downwards. She tugged on Willow's clumsy hand, steering her towards the stairwell. The descended the stairs as quickly as possible, and when the endless flight had stopped, they faced a large room, similar to that of a hotel lobby, and quite a beautiful one at that. In one large corner there was a desk, decked with layers of marble which two clerks attended to, stamping tickets and taking money of some sort. The room was filled with scatterings of people, all seemingly enrapt in their own worlds, and all, it seemed, were young. "Now that's weird, Buff," Willow whispered to her across the din of the lobby, "They're all under, well, I'd say twenty eight or so...not even thirty." "Right," Buffy mused. She was looking around at everything, the high-walled ceilings, the huge glass doors, and the many hundreds of people in this room alone. And Xander. He stood nearby, looking just as confused and out-of-place as the two of them did. He spotted them with wild eyes and looked around him, finally deciding to venture out from the circle of young men in which he stood. There were about eight of them, all young and strong, tall and brawny, and all of them wore similar clothes--that was one thing that bewildered Buffy on first sight. They wore earrings, all of them, just small silver ones in their left ears, and all of them clean-shaven. They were dressed quite oddly as well, though not out of place, especially in this world, Buffy noted, slightly interested, and were dressed in green cargo pants and belts with white undershirts. Some wore necklaces of intricate silver, though masculine, and all of them were young. That was the weirdest part. Xander came towards them with a stupid half-smile on his face. "What is going on?" he asked, looking at them with expectant eyes. "To be honest, I have not a clue," Buffy replied, still looking at the young men nearby. "Me neither," Willow stated simply, shrugging. "Have you learned anything about what this might be?" Buffy asked him, "Or where we are?" "I woke up in this weird hotel room thing, and then I bailed. I was going to look for you, but these guys intercepted me, kept mumbling something about Trounces, or something wierd like that. They lead me down here, and that guy," he paused to point at a particularly attracitve guy in the tight huddle, "Told me he'd checked me in last night, and you'd probably be down soon. I just waited." The particular fellow he'd been speaking of glanced around at her. He had bleached hair, his roots still black, an admirable haircut, and he wore what the rest did, though he had two silver rings embedded in his left ear. That and a tatoo across his right shoulder. From the distance Buffy couldn't quite tell what the tatoo was of, so she stopped trying to be able to see it clearly. He stared almost as if in a trance, dazed and quiet, as though she were some sort of goddess. He broke out of his trance and nudged his friend, a surly-looking fellow with deep eyes and a grin of malice painted on his face. He smiled and said something to the other. "What's his name?" Willow asked, noticing Buffy noticing the stranger. "I dunno," Xander said, "He's a pretty good guy, actually, a singer." "A singer?" Buffy looked at him as though struck, "As in Christmas Carols and Beatles albums?" she asked. "Nah," Xander said, "From what I've heard, he's into Limp Bizkit-like stuff, Rob Zombie, Sublime, the works." "Cool," Willow said matter-of-factly. Buffy continued to watch the guy oddly. It was almost as if his rugged and yet trained appearence begged attention, and he was so obsessively gorgeous one couldn't help but stare. He finally broke her gaze and turned back to his friends, as the eight of them resumed their conversation. "They said we should come to something called 'The Forcity' later," Xander said, "But as to what--or where--that is, your guess is as good as mine." "The Forcity, you say?" came a voice from behind them. Buffy whirled around, only to lock eyes with a sudden stranger. He had a heavy brow and creamy white teeth, glistening eyes and a sharp, intelligent nose. Also quite wonderful looking, thought Buffy, and yet something about him seemed different then the others there. For one thing, the apparel was drastically different. Buffy glanced at his torn jeans and dirty black shirt. He had tatoos all over the front of his arms, and wore earrings all the way up his right and left ears. He wore a lip ring, smooth and gold, and his grin seemed almost evil, but not quite. "Yeah," Buffy said, still appalled by this odd guy. "Good luck with that," he said. He stopped and looked intently into Buffy's eyes. It was almost a piercing gaze, and he said finally, "You should have an interesting time there, a beautiful group like you." From his tone, Buffy knew he was indicating herself and Willow, but Xander still seemed to manage to be nervous. "Where is it?" Buffy asked. Her features twisted and she looked at him again, asking, "What is it?" "It's a club," the stranger replied roughly, "Just around the corner...there is a big sign. Dress nice." He winked and withdrew rapidly, seemingly dissappearing into the shadows before their eyes. "Well," Willow began as soon as he had left, "Sounds like fun, I guess." "Yeah," Buffy said slowly, "But something about all of this seems not quite right. I guess it's because we just ended up here in a poof of smoke, right?" She gave a feeble smile. "Maybe we can find a way out of here," Xander suggested half-heartedly. "It's worth a try," Willow confirmed, nudging Buffy. "All right, then," she said, "Let's go then." 

Darion watched from the stage, livening the air with his quick music, voice clear and beautiful in time. He watched the people below him dance, all young beautiful men and women, dressed in flattering attire and spinning crazily. It gave him an a amazing high, actually, to have them all listening to him so intently, enjoying the music he made. He held the microphone tightly in one hand, knuckles white with the exertion, and sweat beaded on his smooth face, for Darion was quite the good looking guy, actually. He finished his song and bowed as all of them clapped, cheering and whistling more for his genuinely gorgeous looks rather than his music, and yet he liked to believe they enjoyed that as well. The Forcity was a loud place, full of smoke and young people, dying cigarettes in ashtrays, martinis and drugs. He stepped down from the stage and began crossing the stage, accepting a joint from one of the servers, he pressed it to his lips and sucked in the smoke heavily, not even wheezing this time. Padagin, he observed...the cigarette was obviously Padigan, noticable entirely from the rancid smell and the lustrous taste it left behind, as well as the feeling of uttere warmth and fulfillment. He walked to the small table almost unnoticeably, and when he saw the beautiful one's eyes raise to meet his stare, he grinned sharply and advanced, seating himself comfortably beside her. The friend stared at him sweetly, and yet she had no real desire for him, she just found it odd he'd be here, with them...and Xander, well, he was whole-heartedly uninterested. "Hello," Darion said softly, his Northern accent profound and geniuinely intriguing. "Hey," the blond said softly, watching him almost suspiciously, but not quite. "I noticed you all looking just a bit out of place," he said with a grin. "I suppose," she answered lightly, still playing it cool through layers of terror. But why? He asked himself. Why would such a beautiful girl be in such terror in such a wonderful place as The Forcity? It was unknown to him, and so as he tried to unravel the mystery about her, he found himself pressing deeper into the conversation willingly. "I'm Darion," he said, taking another drag from the joint he held. "Buffy," she replied sweetly, taking his other hand in greeting. He noticed her staring at the cigarette he held, and so he offered some to her, all in good taste, naturally. "No, no," she said, almost coughing, "I was just curious what it was." "It's a cigarette, nadine," he said crisply, referring to her as the loose "nadine," a form of Northern greeting to a younger woman who you supposedly found desirable. She seemed to notice the word but not take offense to it, or become intrigued by it. Perhaps she didn't even know what he meant, he pondered, she seemed not to truly react. "No, is it, uh...drugs?" "Of course," he said, finding this question hilarious, "What other thing could it be?' "Tobacco?" she replied as if in question. "Tobacco?" he asked as though dicusted, "Why would someone want to smoke tobacco? Leaves a nasty taste in your mouth, I'd say, and it doesn't give you any kind of high whatsoever." She seemed surprised at this obvious answer. "What drug?" she asked. "It's Padagin," he replied nicely. "Pada-what?" she asked, puzzled. "Padagin's a suppressent," he said to her, explaining it carefully, "Suppresses desires for excitement, you know, getting worked up." "You mean, as in, sexually?" she asked curiously. "No, no," he laughed, "For that there's Nortaine." She seemed not to even catch the joke, so he decided not to push it. "Oh," she said, obviously still confused. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and then asked, "Why would you want to take that?" "Actually," he said, a bit embarrassed, "I was a bit nervous about coming to talk to you. I wouldn't want to make an ass of myself or anything." He felt his cheeks grow red. She looked at him, as though liking his insecurity. "Too late," he said softly. She laughed with him at the small joke. He listened to the music in the background, feeling the rythym enrap him in it's beauty. It was sung by a soft-voiced woman, short and sturdily built, and he loved the melody that she created. Looking at Buffy expectantly, he requested a dance. With a nod, she took his hand, sliding her silky fingers into his larger, rougher ones. He smiled at her and lead her onto the dance floor. 

"Pushy," she said to Willow, "Almost urgent, like he had to-- Oh, I don't know!" She threw up her hands and collapsed on the bed of what they had decided was a hotel in this strange place. "Pushy?" Willow asked Buffy, "Pushy, how, as in pushy, pushy, or just pushy." "Like if we didn't, well--you know, as in tonight It'd be the end of the world or something...and confident." "It might have been the Padagin," Willow said, laughing. Buffy laughed as well and then looked at her friend with a smile. "I also found out that here, wherever the hell we are, drugs are free, legal, and in the clear. Seems these things don't affect physical health at all." "Cool," Willow said, "If I cared to be intoxicated, that is." "Yeah," Buffy said sadly, "It just seems so wrong here, that's all, like something has to be wrong. I mean, they're all so young, Will! Where are all the grown ups hiding out, anyway? There have to be some, or else none of this would exist." "Well after you and 'Darion' went off to dancing, I tried a wicka spell in the bathroom, one that suggests mind reading. It's not a strong spell, actually, it just gives you a sense of whether or not the person is lying, but here, the spell's stronger, and I can read whole thoughts at a time." "You can read my mind?" Buffy asked, almost insulted. "Only if I tried," she said, "But that's not it, Buffy, it's that the field of magic here is way strong, as in way strong. That spell shouldn't have worked so well. And I dug into Darion's mind, also, seems somebody has a little...well a big bit of a crush on our Buffy. But you already knew that." Buffy nodded, looking at her nails, "He's not exactly subtle." "I see," Willow said, "But wait, there's something wierd about him, like he's under a spell or something." "A spell?" Buffy inquired, looking into her friend's eyes cutely. "Yeah," Willow said, "Everyone does. But it's odd how we're not affected...not yet, anyway." "Right," Buffy said. She crawled up to the pillows of the large bed and rested her head on them. "I'm tired, Will," she said, "It must be one in the morning." "Two, actually," Willow clarified. "Okay, then I'll go back to my room. But watch your back, Buffy, and we really need to get out of here." Willow exited fairly quickly, and Buffy thought over everything that was going on. She decided that somehow their entrance to the cave must have triggered some sort of magic reaction that had brought them there. Wherever there was. As she began to drift off into unconciousness, Buffy heard the steady pounding of drums, growing louder and louder until the entire room shook uncontrollably. Jerking herself from sleep, the slayer jumped off of the bed and went to the window. She tried unsuccessfully to look outside, seeing as though the windows were dark glass and it was night outside. Rushing to the door, Buffy opened it with a quick press ofher palm to the plate, and sent it whizzing open, a phenomenon that still amazed her. The hallway was flowing with people, all young and fit like those they'd seen earlier that night, streaming downstairs past Willow's room and out the door of the main lobby. Buffy was suddenly caught up in the dramatic flow of traffic, bodies pressed all around her, and walked with them downstairs, spotting Willow and Xander across the hall from her. The strangest thing was how all of them seemed to be in some sort of trance, as though anything keeping them from their destination they would destroy just for the sake of reaching the ending position...and to Buffy's surprise, her two friends had the same zombie-like looks plastered on their features. Noting now that the music was not drums, but music, pounding and close, she still followed the others hazily. The long line of people, the width of about ten men abreast, stretched down out of the lobby, joining the lines coming from other buildings, and continued down the streets, through winding alleys and roads, following the music. Buffy looked around warily. The entire scene was dark and foreboding, the alleys shadowy and the windows dim. Something about the place frightened her suddenly. She was right. Rounding the corner of the next block, Buffy saw a larger platform, almost like some sort of strange stage, and six huge blocks of stone on top of it, positioned in a semicircle. There were huge speakers on both sides of the stage, blaring out the rough rock music quickly, and the people of this place were gathering in the place near the stage, all moving noisily, dancing, and looking almost admiringly to the stage. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling around, she saw Darion's pleasent face come into view. "Darion!" she gasped, startled. "Isn't it wonderful, Buffy?" he asked, a radiant smile set on his firm features. "I suppose," she replied, "But Darion, what is it?" "Pardozza," he said immediately, speaking the name with relish, "Pardozza of the night." "Par-whozza of the what?" Buffy asked. He seemed to take her words seriously, and looked at her wryly. "Pardozza," he explained, "Our goddess and our queen." He stopped a minute. "And those," he said, pointing to a row of seven young men and women kneeling on the stage, hands bound, "Are the condemned." "The condemned?" Buffy asked, "Why are they condemned?" "They have reached their thirtieth year this night," he said. "So when they're thirty, they're going to die or something?" she questioned/ "Of course," he said, "Their duty to the queen." Buffy bit her lip and looked up again at the stage. There were three fair-haired young men and a brown-haired one, and there were three women with blond, flowing hair. All of them gorgeous as well as solemn, knowing their fate. But who was this Pardozza that Darion spoke of as if in a trance? Her answer came quicker than she expected. Out onto the stage stepped a feminine figure, dressed in a satin gown. She was more beautiful than most, with hair as black as the night she stood in and high cheekbones which complemented sensous lips and an appealing set of teeth. She looked at all of those gathered before her, her subjects, you might say, Buffy concluded. She spread out her arms sharply, and the music stopped abruptly, and with it all those gathered snapped to the floor in a kneeling position before her. Buffy still stood standing, but decided it would be better to kneel, and so she knelt quickly beside Darion, breathing hard and watching his eyes, closed, and his broad shoulders sink up and down as he breathed silently. Hot, she thought to herself, now he's one fine guy. But with no time to spare, she looked once more up to the stage and her jaw dropped. Pardozza, it seemed, was a vampire, and all around her now stood various vampire minions. She reached down and grabbed the nearest kneeling human, a fair haired man, and pulled back his head, exposing the tender flesh of his neck that covered the artery buried there. With a glance at her people and back to her meal, her brow crinkled into the familiar vampire pattern and her eyes grew yellow instantly, her fangs growing long and sharp, ready for the kill. She sunk her teeth deep into his flesh, tearing at the blood, and engulfed his life in only a moment. Dropping the lifeless corpse to the wooden floor of the humongous stage, she looked around at her people, eyes tawny and fierce, blood running down two perfect cheeks, her jaws smeared with it. She let out an astounding cackle and snapped her fingers. The many other vampires, muscular and mean-looking, gathered up the remaining six humans on the stage and began fastening them with chains to the stone blocks, one person to each. Buffy watched all of this in horrid facination, eyes unwilling to believe what they saw. An entire world ruled by vampires, she thought to herself, I guess I'll be more than needed here. But something about the people around the stage, clustered in vast numbers, still staring solemnly at the ground, told her that these people were happy, and they were content, and they seemed to not mind being forced to give up their lives for this Pardozza queen of theirs, who was, in fact, a muderous blood sucker who was obviously powerful indeed. And so as 18-year-old Buffy Summers from Sunnydale squatted there, amidst this dazzling array of young, strong, beautiful specimens of people, she felt, in truth, much weaker than they, as though she stood before something more powerful than life itself. Stupid, she thought, to let these feelings in. Pardozza was nothing but a vampire (and this particular slayer had killed many), just like those she, as the slayer, was sworn to protect the innocent from, and yet she had this miraculous power over all present, as though they were under a spell. But why aren't I affected? She looked around over at Willow and Xander, who she had somehow managed to keep an eye on through this whole ordeal. They knelt like all the others, eyes not raised to the stage, fingers pressed to the dirt below them, and the whole thing made for an eerie scene, she realized, the smoke all around them, the lights, and the pounding drums that seemingly resounded throughout the area. Suddenly, there came shafts of light from seemingly nowhere. Panick struck the gathered crowd as they looked around in horror, watching the beams of light carefully. Pardozza was infuriated, and she showed it well, trying desperately to avert all their attention back to her, and yet she did not succeed. Throughout the courtyard, pandemonium ensued, and Buffy was suddenly met with the cold and yet wonderous eyes of a stranger. She stood before her with a thick mop of curly red hair, beautiful indeed, which fell over her face in the most devilish patterns. She had broad green eyes and large lips, but wore only tight black pants and a short halter top, yet held two amazingly large weapons in each hand, both guns. Guns? Buffy thought hard, and could come up with no guns in her memory that looked like that. But one thing seemed out of place on her lovely face, and that was a hideous scar that was struck from her left ear to the lower right corner of her strong, square chin, passing through her lips on it's way there. "Come sister," the strange woman urged strongly. She grabbed Buffy's arm, and the young slayer had no choice but to follow, for this particular woman was exceptionally strong. "But my friends!" Buffy cried, exasperated. "Very well," the woman replied, somewhat angered by this need to return for the other two, "But it will be difficult to turn the weak-minded." Buffy decided not to even challenge this statement yet, and the two of them reached Xander and Willow in a hurry, grabbing them and shoving them forcefully towards the winding alleys. Xander felt like a scared child beneath Buffy's persuasive hands, and he was visibly attempting to turn back and return to the stage. Once they'd left the area, however, the two of them, both Xander and Willow, had calmed noticeably. Then there was a dead end. "Where?" Buffy asked, excited now. "Here," said the other, pressing her foot firmly to the base of a trashcan nearby. A hole the size of a car opened up nearby, and the four of them rambled on into it, the top shutting over them. Reaching a large room, filled with young women, Buffy and her new friend were forced to restrain Xander and Willow, who repeatedly attempted to break free and return to the surface, eyes still glazed over. Once they'd tied the two up, Buffy had a chance to turn and look around a bit closer. It was actually an entire room of women. All of them watched the newcomers strangely. "Welcome, Buffy of Sunnydale," said the first woman she'd seen, who stepped before her now. "Who are you?" Buffy asked, eyes still roaming throughout the room. "I am Ashinah, and we, well, we are the chosen ones, we alone will guard against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness, we are the slayers." "Now where have I heard that before?" Buffy muttered to herself. 

To Be Continued... (Look within the next couple of days, I should have it posted) 


End file.
